We Met at the End
by Invidie
Summary: It's been a month since the outbreak occurred and three friends are making their way through the streets of Paris to find sanctum and sanctuary, but along the way they'll meet others trying to survive and friendships will be made. Love will be found. Hearts will be broken. And lives will be lost. This is the survival of a group known as the Amis and the journey they had to endure.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.**

**Summary: It's been a month since the outbreak occurred and three friends are making their way through the streets of Paris to find sanctum and sanctuary, but along the way they'll meet others trying to survive and friendships will be made. Love will be found. Hearts will be broken. Lives ****_will_**** be lost. This is the survival of a group known as the Amis and the journey they had to endure.**

**Relationships: CombeferreXEponine; EnjolrasXGrantaire; JolyXBossuet; CourfeyracXFeuilly; BahorelXMusichetta; MariusXCosette.**

**Setting: Modern Alternate Universe; Paris, France**

**Rating: Mature**

**Side-Note: This story is a starter of how the Amis would come to be if the world were to spring an apocalypse. It will start at the beginning to where they are all just meeting each other and becoming friends. If you have any problems with this set-up or the pairings, then do not read it. I would like if you did, but I can't force you to. Thank you. 3**

**Chapter 1: The Trio **

** Short summary: Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac make their way across rooftops to find the shelter they need for the night...**

Combeferre placed his hunting rifle on the ledge before pressing his palms into the cement in order to lift himself up; he turned once on the low roof to hold a hand down to one of his two companions. The curly haired man shouldered his shotgun and jumped a little in order to grasp it firmly, his other hand clinging to the brick wall as best it can. Another man crouched slightly below him to hold his hands out as a makeshift step, his eyes darting to the main street from where they came.

Combeferre leaned down to clasp his friend's arm, leaning back once he had a good grip to help him up onto the roof next to him. His friend turned immediately and leaned over the edge with him where their third companion leapt up to grasp both of their hands; feet using the wall to climb upwards. The third got his arms on the ledge and released their hands to pull himself onto the roof the rest of the way; he was on his feet a moment later and walking across the roof.

"Enjolras." He stopped walking and turned to look back at the two, Combeferre still on a knee and the other on his butt with his knees propped up and arms resting on them.

"What is it?"

The unnamed member sighed and shook his head, "Can't we rest a moment? We've been walking since the break of dawn. Nothing can get us up here."

Enjolras stared at him then looked at his best friend of ten years, but the man was looking at the ground refusing to make eye contact, "Combeferre?"

There was a pause, but finally he looked up and at the other next to him, "Courfeyrac's right," the glasses were pushed up as he turned his eyes to Enjolras, "Maybe we should rest for a bit, eat what we can. We're not in a good state to keep moving. We might as well try to regain some lost energy before carrying on until nightfall."

Courfeyrac nodded in agreement, his black curls bobbing, "Yeah, what he said."

Enjolras looked between the two before letting out a soft sigh, "Okay, fine. We'll rest and eat something, but then we _have_ to keep moving it's already starting to get dark."

Combeferre glanced up at the dulling sky, but pulled the pack from his back to drop onto the ground in front of Courfeyrac, "I think there are few more of those protein bars we picked up awhile back."

Courfeyrac scrunched up his face at the remark as he opened the pack, "Is that all we have? I thought we had canned food."

"_Had_ canned food," Combeferre sighed, "We ate the rest of it this morning before leaving."

"We'll have to find somewhere on the way up," Enjolras walked over to take a seat, knees bent up and the butt of his shotgun on the ground between them, "sooner than later."

Courfeyrac pulled out the small wrapped food and threw one to each of his friends, opening one for himself after, "I still don't know what we're doing."

Combeferre eyed Enjolras at the statement, but stayed quiet knowing that the leader of the three would comment better than he.

"Heading north," Enjolras played at the ridged ends of the wrapper, "To hopefully charter a boat to the United Kingdom, London specifically."

"How do we know that they aren't in this same…_Hell_ like we are?" Courfeyrac asked.

"We don't," Enjolras answered simply, "we can only hope that they aren't and that sanctuary is there."

"And if there isn't…?" The question was so quiet, so unsure, and full of attempt at hiding fear that Enjolras hesitated in answering it which caused the man to break eye contact and stare at the protein bar in his hand.

"We keep moving," Combeferre sat up straight and they both looked at him, "We wouldn't have a choice. We'll keep going north, right? Even if it means leaving Britain and going to Sweden. There _has_ to be a combine of some sort somewhere that can offer safety and protection."

Enjolras nodded and reached a hand out to pat his arm, "Right. There has to be. The whole world can't be like this."

Courfeyrac's eyes flicked back down at the food, "I hope you're right."

"As do I," Enjolras said truthfully and after that their conversation went silent. There was nothing more to be said about their traveling or what the rest of the world was like. All three had their dreams, their hopes, but they also had their fears and worries. There was no telling what else was out there or who else. For all they knew, they could be the last truly alive people in Paris…France even; a trio of different personalities that united wonderfully in this time of death.

Enjolras was the one who called the shots, made the decisions of what they were going to that day to survive. He had always been though even before the outbreak. He was that University student who led the rallies, debated for the rights of equality, and fought with those who found it in their nature to disagree verbally with him. His angelic looks only a sheep's skin of hiding the wolf harboring inside him. Enjolras was their soul, their chief.

Combeferre was the one with the idea of how to make everything easier, better for them as they lived each passing day. At the University he was always located at Enjolras' side, whispering and talking quietly in a hushed tone into his friend's ear; nobody was ever certain as to what was being said, but for some reason once it was…Enjolras would change around his course of speaking. Calm, thoughtful, philosophical even; he was kind hearted, but just as brave as his childhood friend. Combeferre was their mind, their guide.

Courfeyrac was the one with the initiative to jump ahead, choosing to be the first one to enter the field and loyally protect his two companions without a thought to stop him. In school he was located at Enjolras' other side, nodding and agreeing with everything being said; positive energy boosting up their standing and flowing into those around them. Charming and handsome he brought the hearts of many women into their cause, but that charm was nothing out here in this desolate land. Now, that charm could only work to boost his friends to keep going, to keep moving even if death is around the corner. Courfeyrac was their body, their center.

The three of them made up one entity, one being and it was their one tool of power that helped them to survive. If one were to fall…the others would more than likely follow him.

"We should get moving," Enjolras broke the silence a good ten minutes later, rising to his feet immediately and shotgun ready in his hands.

Combeferre closed up the pack to place on his shoulders again, hunting rifle held on one by a strap so to help Courfeyrac up with his hand.

Courfeyrac thankfully took the hand and rose up as well, yawning as he did so, "Anybody know the actual time?"

Combeferre flicked his arm out, the sleeve of his jacket riding up slightly to show his watch, "Seven twenty-three."

"We have a little over an hour of sunlight in other words," Enjolras added, "Which means we have to find shelter before then."

"Then let's get going," Courfeyrac grinned at him, all those earlier feelings of uncertainty gone and replaced with an unknown enthusiasm.

Enjolras turned his back to the two and started across the low rooftop of the drug store to where another building's roof was only a few feet up. He climbed it easily and continued moving, glancing back to make sure the two were following close, Combeferre's tall frame notably getting onto the roof a lot swifter and easier than Courfeyrac's shorter. He, being the chief, paused at the roof edge to look down at the alley with a look of disgust before looking across the gap to the multi-living complex. His eyes on the fire escape and the multiple windows still open to the world, "Courfeyrac."

"Yeah?" he came up on the left of Enjolras with eyes already scanning the situation, "I can make it."

Combeferre looked him over Enjolras' head, "Are you sure?"

Courfeyrac looked at the gap between the two buildings and gave a small shrug, "Wouldn't kill me if I tried."

"No, but it would injure you if you were to fall," Combeferre frowned then did his own surveying of the situation. The two watched the guide with curious looks as his brow furrowed and jaw set, his usual look his face would take when he was thinking. His eyes flicked about the side of the building catching every detail while his brain processed what he already gathered in his first few scans. It was another minute before he finally spoke up, "It would hold your weight."

"I think it's safe to say that I have lost a few pounds since this thing began," Courfeyrac grinned, patting his stomach, "Thank you for noticing."

Combeferre ignored it to continue, "But only if you can land your feet onto the balcony when your hands grab the rail."

"Isn't that a given?" Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, but you can't slip," Combeferre clarified, "Once you land, you must stay that way. You can't slip and let your weight be supported by the rail. It won't hold."

Courfeyrac frowned and gave a grumble of protest saying something about having lost a little more weight than that. He held his gun out to Enjolras and waited till it left his hand before taking a few steps back, body crouched slightly and ready to run, "So, just wondering: What are the chances that it'll break anyways once I land it?"

"Honestly?" Combeferre waited for a nod, "About a sixty percent chance."

"How do you figure?"

"The screws are rusted and the metal used is of cheap manufacturing," Combeferre stepped more out of the way with Enjolras, still answering, "You don't want to spend a lot of time standing there."

Courfeyrac shook his hands out and rolled his neck, eyeing Enjolras, "What's your plan once I'm over there?"

"Throw us a rope," Enjolras answered and Courfeyrac snorted.  
"A rope, right," he took a breath and ran forward, launching himself off the edge of the roof with hands outstretched. His hands and feet both connect with the metal, curling around the rail while he tries to slide his feet up more onto the platform with the still there momentum. He freezes up the minute he's stable, unsure if it really was supporting him or not. A second later though he's carefully hoisting himself over and onto the platform, a loud squeak coming out of it.

"Gun," Courfeyrac nodded once straight and Enjolras tossed the shotgun across the gap into the waiting hands of the center, "Thanks. So, what's the plan?"

"I already told you," Enjolras' lips quirked a small smirk, "throw us a rope."

Courfeyrac frowned, "You're kidding right?"

"There's no guaranteeing that we'd both make the jump or if the rail would hold," Enjolras shrugged.

"Why do we travel this way?" Courfeyrac turned to go up a flight of the rickety metal stairs, "Why not take the roads?"

"Easier for those things to hide on the streets than it is for them to climb," Enjolras answered, "We figured that out early on."

"This is more work," Courfeyrac went up another flight and stopped at the top to lean over the rail (not touching it) to look down at them, "and more time consuming then just walking around the building."

"Are you going to keep complaining?" Enjolras squinted up at him and the man shook his head.

"No, I'm only saying," Courfeyrac turned away from the edge, pulling a flashlight from his jacket pocket to shine into a window, "Hello!"

"Why does he always do that?" Enjolras asked quietly to the taller of his two friends, annoyance and amusement mixing into his tone.

"Perhaps he's hoping that one day someone will answer him," Combeferre said softly and Enjolras looked at him, but the once student was looking up at where Courfeyrac was ducking into a window and out of their sight.

Courfeyrac sniffed as he entered the small flat and immediately recoiled at the stench, "Aw, fuck." His arm came up to let his nose bury into the crook of it, the flash light still aimed with that connecting hand. He held his shotgun close to his side, finger loosely pressed behind the trigger. He breathes in the fabric of his jacket and crinkles his nose at the realization that it smelt like sweat and dirt, _'I just can't fucking win_.' He dropped his arm after a moment and stretched his nose out before bringing his shotgun up to rest the barrel of it on his forearm, pointing it in front of him as his eyes flicked everywhere the light touched and didn't touch. He swallowed back his nerves and walked further into the thrashed living room. He stepped over a broken lamp while glancing at the ground looking for anything that may be of use to him in aiding his friends to join him, but nothing caught his eye and he moved onto the hall.

Meanwhile, Enjolras and Combeferre still stand on the roof opposite of the building staring up at where their friend had been moments ago. Combeferre tore his eyes away from the empty fire escape to look at his friend, studying him silently.

"Why are you staring at me?" Enjolras asked it still looking up.

"I'm not staring at you," Combeferre corrected, "I was only thinking about things." He turned his head back up to where Courfeyrac went and began to nervously chew his lip.

Enjolras looked at him a moment longer then brought his gaze back up as well, "I wish he'd hurry up."

Combeferre nodded his head in a slow agreement, but his mouth stayed quiet as their curly haired friend stood motionless in the flat he had gone into.

The light given off from the flashlight was like a beam of terror in the back of Courfeyrac's mind because it could only show the evils of what's happened, at least that's what his thoughts were as he stood in the doorframe of a child's room. The flashlight's beam of help was currently sprawled out across the pink quilted bed where a child lied curled under them. She had a thumb in her mouth and a teddy bear in her arm, the image looking as if she were only sleeping if it weren't for her blonde hair being matted and stained red from the blood burst of the bullet wound in the side of her head. A child killed before this hell could take her into its grasp and make her do its bidding. She was one of the lucky ones. Or so he thought, but what did he know? According to Combeferre _they_ were the lucky ones. The ones who _weren't_ infected.

"Load of horse shit if you ask me," Courfeyrac mumbled to himself; this wasn't like him, he thought as he moved away from the bedroom to duck into the bathroom. He was usually happy, excited, positive…but how can you be such a person in a place like this? A place where there is no God.

He opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and knocked around bottles of medication eventually finding a small bottle of painkillers to shove into his pocket. He shut the door of it and jumped at the reflection, body turning quickly with his gun raised ready to shoot, but he didn't. He stood and stared at the figure slouched against the shower wall, head down and body naked. He steps forward slowly to place the end of the barrel of his gun under the man's forehead, lifting up and forcing the head to tip back. Courfeyrac made a face of slight disgust as he looked into the milky eyes of the deceased man, a bullet hole between the eyes.

"Poor bastard, caught with your pants off," Courfeyrac removed the pressure of his gun and immediately the dead weight of the body slipped to the floor of the shower, but he was already walking out of the bathroom when it hit the porcelain with a soft thud. His shotgun raised and light pointing as he returned to the hall. He stopped at a partially opened door and toed it open with his boot; the sight inside making him let out a sad breath as he shook head while lowering his gun, "Fuck."

Seated in a chair by a shaded window was a woman with her head hung and an arm hanging down with a pistol in her hand, dried blood trailed down her pale arm and stained the lap of her dress. He stayed frozen in the doorway; he already knew what the blood was from as his eyes traveled to the wrapped bundle in the woman's arms. The blood staining the once soft pink blanket and he shook his head, "Poor bastards." He sighed and eyed the gun with Enjolras' voice echoing in his head, '_We need all the weapons we can get._' Courfeyrac couldn't help, but roll his eyes at the tone of it and respond out loud, "Yes, yes I _know_. We _need_ weapons. How about you bring _your_ angelic ass up here and get it yourself?" He shook his head and shouldered his shotgun, keeping his eyes on the pistol as he walked over to take it, making damn well sure his eyes didn't travel up to see the nightmare in the chair holding what he never wanted to see.

He uncurled the stiff hand from the gun and stuffed it into the back of his pants before nodding up at the pale stricken, milky eyed face of the woman, "Thank you kindly, Madame." He got on his feet and walked over to the window, pulling the shade open then forcing the window up to poke his head out it, "Hey!"

)(

Prior to him opening that window Enjolras and Combeferre had finally brought themselves to actually uphold a conversation between each other, a conversation that would be noted as important to most…if you weren't Enjolras. The conversation, one may ask, was about their parents.

"Do you think we should try to find them before we leave Paris?" Combeferre had asked the question quietly from where he sat on the ledge of the roof, hands resting on the rifle sitting on his legs.

Enjolras still stood next to him, but he turned his stare down to his friend at the question, "Who? Our parents?" He waited for a nod before answering it honestly, "No, I don't think we should. Chances are they're probably dead too."

"You don't know that," Combeferre pointed out, but Enjolras only shrugged his red clothed shoulders and let out a sigh, "Enjolras, they _could_ still be alive."

"And what if they are?" Enjolras asked, "What are we going to do about it?"

"Take them with us," Combeferre stated.

"They'd only slow us down," Enjolras looked up at the window, "just like they've always done."

Combeferre paused in responding, "You can't actually mean that."

Enjolras looked back at him with a frown, "When have they ever once said they supported our decisions? When have you ever heard the words 'I'm proud of you' come out of your father's mouth, 'Ferre? Never, and neither have I from mine."

"But what of our mothers, they—"

"_They_ could never express how they felt about anything we did with our fathers lurking about," Enjolras snapped, "There was never once where they could honestly tell us how they felt about us doing things!"

Combeferre stared calmly up at him, unbothered by the angered side of his friend. It would pass, it normally did.

A few seconds later the blond was taking a deep breath and slowly lowering himself to sit next to Combeferre, "I'm sorry. I just, I could care less about where they are."

"I know, I shouldn't have asked," Combeferre looked down at his gun, "but as much as we despised our families for disagreeing with everything we ever did…I would still like to know. It's only right."

Enjolras stayed quiet for the longest time and broke into his own thoughts, behind a wall he built to keep them at bay ever since he left his home. He hadn't let that idea even cross his mind (the one being of locating their parents), but not purely because he didn't want to. No. It was because he was focusing on the survival of him and his two friends. In all honesty he never really even thought about his parents since he started at the University. They'd send him money, maybe call every now and then, but then they would be only a dream to him. A nightmare even.

He was angry in that moment, towards Combeferre slightly. He had grown up in the somewhat same situation as him. Only sons, only children, soul heirs, and with Dads who controlled their every breath. Enjolras' father wanted his son to be prosperous in the sense of riches, royalty, and above all: to know his place in society. Enjolras didn't want that though; he liked to have his money, but only to help him finish with school. His heart and mind was dedicated to the rights of the people, to gain their rights, and freedom in society. His father didn't agree with that and he made sure his son knew.

Enjolras didn't want to see his parents, didn't care to know if they were alive or not, but Combeferre _was_ right. They should still find out. It's the right thing to do and that's why the blond finally nodded his head after his long pause, "You're right. We should find out."

Combeferre stared at his gun still, "We don't _have_ to."

"No, but we _should_," Enjolras sighed, "It is only right, like you said."

Combeferre looked at him, "I'm not forcing you to do this, we don't have to find out about _your_ parents…but I must know about mine, about my mother at least."

Enjolras nodded, "We'll try to make our way towards their estates as we travel north, but 'Ferre," he takes a breath, "there's no guaranteeing that they're even alive or _truly_ dead."

"I'm aware of that," Combeferre frowned, "but I'd rather we find them and give them salvation by our own hands than by another's…like Courfeyrac's."

Enjolras nodded grimly, "I hadn't…thought of it that way."

"It's all I've been thinking about since we found his parents," Combeferre said truthfully.

Enjolras stared at him trying to find the right words to respond with, but finds a question instead, "Do you think he's still bothered by it?"

"If he is, he hasn't said anything and probably won't," Combeferre turned his stare to the fire escape, "He'd never let us know if it were."

"Hey!" The two snapped their heads to a window a little ways off from the escape to see Courfeyrac leaning out of it, squinting with a grin, "Are you two ladies talking about me?"

"There are days where I contemplate just leaving him and his mouth," Enjolras muttered getting a small chuckle out of Combeferre before speaking up, "Yeah, we were wondering what was taking so long!"

Courfeyrac glanced behind him then gave a small shrug, "Maybe I'm shopping for a place to live."

Enjolras rolled his eyes, "Did you find anything?"

"No," Courfeyrac shook his head, "Not yet, but I'm still looking."

"Hurry it up, won't you?" Enjolras sighed, "We don't have much more time to find somewhere to sleep for the night."

"I _know_," Courfeyrac rolled his head with his eyes probably, "Don't need to be told _every time_ I do something. I'm not a child, Enj."

"Just please hurry it up a bit," Enjolras said calmly, amusement subsiding.

"Okay, _fine_ I will," the curly haired friend ducked back inside the window leaving the still seated on the opposite roof. He disappeared back into the room and left the flat at a slower rate, gun raised and searching down the length of the hall. His plan was to find a rope, wait _no_. It was _Enjolras'_ plan for him to find a rope, but he couldn't literally mean an actual rope. What rope was he going to find aside from maybe one attached to a child's toy, but that wasn't going to be nearly long enough. He'd have to improvise, _majorly_. Even if it meant tying bed sheets together in order to get them over here, it would have to do. Because being friends with Enjolras that past year had taught him one big thing: If Enjolras wants something done, it _will_ get done and by any means if necessary.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, _'And by anyone stupid enough to jump an alleyway_.' He sighed at his own thoughts knowing that he jumped it fully willing and wanting to be the one to search. He wasn't about to let either of them get hurt as long as he was still—

"Oof," Courfeyrac's hand shot out to slap against the wall as he caught himself from falling onto his face. He stood still a second making sure he was stable before looking down at his feet, "What the hell?" He turned his head to see an orange cord stretching across the hall between two doors and his head cocked to the side, "An extension cord?" He turned his whole frame to crouch down and pick it up in one hand, the length to his left lifting more. He gave it a tug and the left side started to increase in length as he pulled it from under the door, but eventually it stopped with a soft thud and he stood to open the door slowly. His foot pushed the cord until the thick end of it was moved away to slide around the door, only the cord was attached to another, this one yellow, "What in the hell?"

He glanced into the dark room and instantly brought his flashlight up before stepping in; he shouldered his shotgun and pulled the pistol from his pants. The torch was brought up to be held by teeth as he checked the magazine, _'Nine, odd number. That'll bug Combeferre._' He snickered to himself and something in the room shifted from being touched; his head snapped up and he slowly pulled the flashlight from his mouth, "Hello?"

Courfeyrac steadily raised the pistol up and walked further into the flat while calling out again, "Hello?" Another sound came from around the corner and he slowly made his way to it, nerves bouncing around. He swallowed nervously, heart pounding and wanting to leap out of his throat. His grip on the flashlight tightened next to his head and he switched his finger from outside the trigger of the pistol on his outstretched arm to ghost over it. He stepped away from the wall in order to start turning already, wanting to see whatever was there at the same time as it saw him. He stepped past the wall and instantly he took in a hissed breath as the flashlight dropped from his hand, both now wrapped around the gun aiming down at the floor, "Don't fucking move."

)(

Combeferre had taken the new time of Courfeyrac disappearing into the window and their waiting again to walk over to the edge of the roof that looked down at the barren empty streets of Paris. His hunting rifle was gripped tightly in his hands and his stature was tall and erect, shoulders straight and jaw set. His mind on the other hand wasn't as calm as his figure would lead others to believe. That part of him was always working, always thinking, always planning. At that moment, it was planning ahead to what he would do if he found his parents. What he would do and if he'd be able to even do it if needed to.

'_Of course I'd be able to do it_,' Combeferre sighed inwardly and straightened up even more as he scanned the street below, _'I wouldn't have much of a choice, I couldn't leave them in that state_.'

He rolled a shoulder and made a face of discomfort, distracting his thoughts with the sudden reminder of hurting his shoulder two days ago. One hand released the gun to come up and gently squeeze the shoulder as he rolled it again, but he quickly stopped knowing that he had told Enjolras the day of that it wasn't bothering him. It was a lie of course; his shoulder hurt more than he could even let himself think about. Today when he pulled Courfeyrac and Enjolras up onto the roof he knew he had pulled it even more, but he wasn't about to let it show just how much pain he was in.

Combeferre glanced over at where Enjolras stood by the other edge, looking up at the building. The guide stared for a moment, but then looked back at the street letting his thoughts consume him again as he bit his lip and tightened his hold on the gun trying to ignore the surfacing pain. His thoughts going back to if he'd be able to hold his gun up and take whatever life was left from his parents. He's already killed—no, not killed…they were already killed. This was different; it was more like deanimating (Even though he kept telling himself that that wasn't a proper word) with what they did. You can't kill something that is already dead, but you _can_ stop something that has been reanimated by destroying the connection to the only organ still working in the body: the brain.

What needs to be understood here is that the guide of the trio had in fact sort of figured this all out from this starting a month ago; by saying that it is of course meant as him knowing _what_ happens to the body once it is killed, bitten, or blood tainted by these hell-demons. Not the how. Nobody knew the how, not yet at least. His logic, that he figured, was that it was indeed a virus—this is where Courfeyrac would jump in with "_Like in the movies?_" and Combeferre would nod—that was spreading through everyone, and, for a lack of better description, like in the movies. Some_how_ a virus was released into someone's system _or_ it was airborne, but that was another of those "hows" which Combeferre didn't know yet; he did know how it was spread and that was through bite (salvia), consumed blood from one (bloodborne pathogen), or dying from anything other than a gunshot to the head (possible airborne pathogen).

This virus enters the blood stream and begins to weaken the body, starting first with the immune system. (Note here that this is all from witnessing it and not knowing for sure; AKA Combeferre's reasoning and logic) The process is slow, long, and painful. The victim will grow weak, pale, and start having coughing fits as if their lungs are suddenly filled with smoke. Their eyes will become dewy and their mouths will dry out while their lips will chap. That's in the first three days. By the fourth day they'll begin to have difficulties walking and their vision will start to fade; throwing up will also commence on this day. The fifth day, eyes now turning milky, they're breathing sounding forced, bodies finally becoming too much to lift, and the noticeable difference in their weight will start to show…almost like they're drying out as their body tries to fight off the virus. By the sixth day they can't talk, walk, or see and the light of life will begin fading from their eyes. And finally by the seventh morning, a week exactly after they've been bitten: their heart will stop beating. Then you have about two minutes to place a bullet in their head before the virus reanimates their brain and gives them the one primal instinct all creatures have: the need to feed.

Combeferre saw it all happen. All three of them did. They watched the process. And they saw what it took to stop it. They knew what they had to do and regrettably it was something none of them would ever forget even after this was all over. One doesn't just simply forget your friend shooting your mother in the head just as she's about to bite your arm.

Courfeyrac would never forget it and neither would Enjolras, and because of _that_ Combeferre would never either.

Zombies, that's what Courfeyrac called them.

Undead, was Enjolras' term.

Combeferre, he thought it didn't matter what title they were given. _They_ were monsters, demons even, from Hell and no one was going to survive in the end. Lucifer would make sure of that.

His shoulder was hurting again, but now from him holding it stiffly in place for too long and he had to roll it. His face contorted with discomfort at the roll, but then he froze in the middle of it as his eyes locked in on a figure moving through the deserted cars on the street. He stared long at it through his glasses, but instinctively brought his gun up to peer through the scope on it.

The figure _was_ a woman; the word was being used due to her lack of a jaw and nose, then in general no longer knowing that it was one either. It staggered down the street and around the cars, arms crooked up and knees bent slightly as it moved. It was turning its decayed head, blood dripping from where the jaw should be and staining the blue shirt. It stopped walking and cocked its head before turning towards his direction; milky eyes staring at him from the other end of the scope. Eyes empty of any life that had once harbored there.

"Shoot it."

Combeferre let out a soft breath and pulled the trigger; the gun lurched back into his shoulder harshly and the infected's head snapped back before falling onto the hood of a car. The guide slowly lowered his rifle and took in a calming breath as to not focus on the sheering pain running through his shoulder.

"Where there's one, there's more," Enjolras said quietly, "Courfeyrac needs to hurry."

Combeferre nodded as he kept his eyes on the unmoving woman.

"Keep a look out, if you see more coming in large numbers," Enjolras was walking away as he spoke, "we might have to test the weight of that rail."

'_It won't hold_,' Combeferre thought, but more of an absentminded thought as he focused his mind on what had happened.

It was _so_ easy now. It was _so_ natural to just shoot. No thought, no hesitation…but would he be able to do that same to his own family?

)(

"Don't fucking move," Courfeyrac glared harshly down at the floor as he pointed his gun. His head was wheeling with the sight and his heart was racing as his breaths were huffs of air; it's been almost two weeks since any others.

"Put your gun down," the man who had spoken was laying on the ground with a blue button down opened to show a white t-shirt as the overshirt hung on one arm, but that wasn't what Courfeyrac was looking at. His eyes were on the blood sliding down his bare arm from a wound on his bicep, the blood dripping onto the floor in droplets. The man's head was lifted along with his chest as his hands held tight to a sawed off shotgun, "I said put your gun down."

"How about you put yours down?" Courfeyrac offered, rocking slightly on his feet as he licked his lips, "No point in killing someone who isn't going to turn into one of those zombies."

"Touché," he cocked the gun and aimed it better, leaning on his good arm, "So put yours down."

"Like hell," Courfeyrac's brow furrowed, "I'm not the one who has a bite mark on their arm!"

"He wasn't bitten!"

Courfeyrac whirled around with his gun and had to do everything in his power to keep from firing off a bullet into the newcomer, but he refrained and the man stared wide eyed at him, going pale. He was thin, lanky, and dressed casually with blood staining his jacket, "I can _see_ the mark."

He shook his head quickly and started towards Courfeyrac, "It's not a bite mark!"

Courfeyrac stepped forward once, "Don't come any closer."

The man froze with his eyes still wide.

"Just stay right there," Courfeyrac wetted his lips again, but before he could bring himself to ask a question the sound of a rifle going off came from outside, "What the..." He glanced at the window with intentions to run over as he momentarily forgot about the two people, his worry on his friends.

"You have others with you?" The paler asked it with almost an overly happy tone.

"Yes," Courfeyrac answered bringing his gun back to attention of pointing at the man, "Why?"

"Can we come with you?" He smiled.

"What?" Courfeyrac's brow furrowed, "No. You can't! Your friend was bitten!"

"I keep telling you," he was talking softer now and his eyes not as wide with fear, "he wasn't bitten."

"I tripped."

Courfeyrac looked down at the man holding the shotgun and frowned, "You what?"

"Put down your gun and we'll tell you what happened," the man offered as he dropped his own onto the floor.

Courfeyrac deliberated the idea for a moment before eventually stashing the pistol into the back of his pants, "Fine, but make it quick."

The thinner walked past him to kneel down by his friend; Courfeyrac finally noticing the small First Aid box in his hand. He opened the box and set about to clean the gash on the other's arm as he spoke, "The entrance to this building there's an iron gate at the front of the path; we were running to get out of the storm that had happened last night."

"I caught a crack on the walk with the toe of my shoe and fell into the arrowed end of the gate; it slashed up my arm pretty good."

"You…tripped?" Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I tripped. My luck isn't the best," he shrugged his good arm, "but I wasn't bitten I swear…my luck hasn't run out that much yet."

"And hopefully it never will," his friend said softly as he worked at wrapping his arm tightly, "Don't really know what I'd do if it did."

Courfeyrac watched the two for a moment, but then chewed his lip at the sudden reminder of _his_ friends waiting outside, "Look, I have two others with me. We're heading north, if you want—"

"We can come with you?" the happier of the two looked at him with lit up eyes.

Courfeyrac nodded, "I don't see why not; but first, we have to get my friends from off the roof next door."

"The roof?" the happy one looked at him confused, "Why are they on the roof?"

"We like to think we're superheroes," Courfeyrac grinned at them and they exchanged looks, "Seen any random rope lying around?"

)(

"They're coming," Combeferre said it calmly as he watched the end of the street, "We don't have much time."

"We need to get up higher," Enjolras said lowly, "Now."

Combeferre gave a nod and shouldered his rifle to walk to the other end of the building with his friend, "It won't hold, Enjolras."

"Cross your fingers then," Enjolras already had his shotgun's strap over his head and across his chest; he rubbed his hands together and crouched down, "We don't have much of a choice."

"Hey, Princes!" Combeferre and Enjolras snapped their heads up at the voice to see Courfeyrac leaning over the edge of the roof, "I found you some hair to climb my tower with," he paused then added, "Okay that sounded a lot better in my head! Long story short: I found you a way up!" He disappeared from sight after that.

"Did he just call himself Rapunzel?" Combeferre muttered and Enjolras snorted.

"He would be the princess out of the three of us," Enjolras answered.

Combeferre smiled lightly at that and looked up just as Courfeyrac reappeared, yelling down to them, "Watch your heads!" He heaved his arms over the side and a bundle of color dropped from above, crossing the gap to land in a curl by Enjolras' feet.

Combeferre's brow furrowed as he stared down at the end of the makeshift rope, eyes traveling up it.

"Is that…" Enjolras trailed off and the guide nodded.

"Extension cords braided together, yes," Combeferre sighed looking at him, "Courfeyrac's way of improvising."

"Hm," Enjolras cocked his head with an amused grin then grabbed the cord, giving it a tug, "Will it hold us?"

"Would you like to know my honest opinion?"

"Usually that's what I look for when I ask you a question."

Combeferre scanned up the length of the "rope" to see the different connecting areas of the multiple cords in separate areas of the vertical stretch, "Depending on how well those connecting ends hold up will determine that. Want a percentile?"

"Normally you give one."

"About a seventy percent chance that it will hold us both."

"Perfect," Enjolras looked at him, "So, you want to go first."

Combeferre stepped back, "By all means, you go. I'd rather watch you struggle first."

Enjolras let out a short laugh and gripped the cords tightly with a smile, "If I fall, kill him slowly."

The four-eyed friend chuckled, "Yes, sir."

Enjolras pulled the cords tightly, "Here goes nothing," he stepped off the edge, foot pushing against it to let him swing into the brick wall of the complex. His back bounced into it and he groaned softly; he took a moment to collect himself before crossing his ankles beginning to climb up the _rope_. One hand after the other.

Combeferre watched nervously from where he stood, tongue licking his lips, and eyes wildly roaming the cords for any strain of weight. If it didn't hold Enjolras would fall, the drop wouldn't kill him, but it would injure him and Combeferre would have to find a way down to him before the infected were on them. If that cord didn't hold…Enjolras might not make it past this.

"You wanna hurry that process up a little bit, Prince Charming?" Courfeyrac's voice broke his thoughts, "You're kinda getting heavy."

Combeferre felt a weird sense of relief fall over him at the joke and he couldn't but smile at the comment. He fixed the strap of his gun and took a deep breath to watch Enjolras as Courfeyrac continued to feed dialogue.

"Cinderella is going to be late to the ball and it'll be your entire fault because you chose to focus on Debate Class rather than physical education! Climb faster, dammit!"

Combeferre shook his head and watched as Enjolras reached the top a few minutes later where Courfeyrac's hand appeared to take his, pulling the blond over. The rope was pulled up to the roof and a minute later being tossed down to land by Combeferre's feet.

"Your turn!" Courfeyrac grinned down at him then disappeared back as the tallest member of the group grabbed onto the cord, pulled it tightly, took a breath, and then swung across to slam into the brick wall; his right shoulder taking the blunt force of it. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, biting his tongue. This was not going to be an easy thing for him to accomplish; he opened his eyes and looked up at the distance and had to do everything in his power to keep from groaning at the mental idea of how much pain he was going to be in. He gripped the cords tight with his left hand and slowly raised his right one to grab up as far as he could. His hand wrapped around the braided lengths and he clenched his teeth at the sudden weight he was putting on his shoulder and his hand dropped back down.

"Okay, Prince…I don't know any more Disney shit aside from the Fairy Godmother, but I already gave you the privileged title of 'Prince' earlier so let's just go with, Prince Purity," Courfeyrac babbled, "hurry your ass up! We can't hold you forever!"  
Combeferre gritted his teeth and tried again with climbing up, but he only managed to pull himself up one time with his right arm. He hissed out a breath then began to shakily breathe from the pain; his heart thudding, "I can't!"

"What do you mean you can't?" Courfeyrac yelled, "I understand you probably failed at every physical thing in life, but you are a tall, strong, well-built man! Now move before I take that compliment back!"

Combeferre sighed and tried again, barely managing to lift himself up that time.

"Come on double P, let's move!" Courfeyrac yelled, but then there was a muffled response from Enjolras before suddenly the cord was being pulled slowly up towards the roof. Once close enough a hand shot down to him and he gripped it with his left hand, right hand going to the ledge. Another set of hands came down to grab the back of his jacket and the back belt loop of his trousers, helping to hoist him up onto the roof. He was released when he could rest on his hands and knees, head slowly turning to look at Enjolras.

"Why didn't you tell me it still hurt?" Enjolras asked with a neutral expression.

"Because you needn't worry about it," Combeferre answered.

"You should've told me, Combeferre," Enjolras said with a frown, "This could've been a bigger problem if our situation had been worse, did you think about that?"

Combeferre nodded, he had indeed thought about it, "I would go as far as I could then drop back to aid in making sure you two were safe."

Enjolras rolled his eyes, "You don't need to be valiant, just…" he sighed and closed his eyes, "How bad does it hurt right now?"

"Honestly?"

"For the last time, yes," Enjolras opened his eyes, "I want your _honest_ answer."

"It hurts a lot," Combeferre sat back on his heels, "I don't think I can lift with it—actually, no—I know I can't lift with it."

"Maybe I can look at it." Combeferre turned his head to see two men standing by Courfeyrac he'd never seen before, one taller than the other and looking slightly younger who was smiling slightly as he spoke again, "I was a medical student before this outbreak."

Combeferre looked at Enjolras, "Who are they?"

The older walked over and offered his hand to help the kneeling man up; Combeferre accepted the help, but the stranger kept a hold of his hand to shake it politely, "My name is Lesgle, but you can call me Bossuet."

Combeferre turned his attention to the supposed medical student who grinned largely at him, "And I'm Joly, pleasure to meet you."

"They're joining us in our travels," Enjolras gave a small shrug, "We could always use more amis."

**(A/N: I really hope this doesn't get judged on the fact that it basically doesn't have the ability to have all those revolutionary things, but I promise as it goes on that it just might. Please review. ;D)**


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